


Places and Plans

by coal15



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:07:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coal15/pseuds/coal15
Summary: Michael and Alex are adorable dummies. Yeah, that's pretty much the plot.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	Places and Plans

1.

I run into the two of them a lot. Alex and Forrest. Small town, only so many places to hang out, so yeah. It's basically unavoidable, happens at least once or twice a week.

And the weird thing is, I like it.

Maybe it's my ever present 'glutton for punishment' thing, but it's nice to see Alex all smiling and heart-eyed, even if those heart eyes are lookin' at someone else. Besides, Forest is a solid someone else to pick. He's sweet, sincere, uncomplicated, and it's pretty obvious he knows he's dating possibly the best human in New Mexico.

So whenever I see 'em out and about together? Yeah, it perks up my day.

Feels nice.

Well, mostly nice with a little bit of a dull ache mixed in-but that _particular ache?_ Meh. Whatever, man. I've lived with it for over ten years now, so it's not like an actual burden or anything. Not anymore. Just another detail, y'know? Part of life as Michael Guerin. And it's entirely overshadowed by how great it feels to know life is workin' out so damn good for Alex. Anytime he and Forest come strolling into the Crashdown or Wild Pony or whereverthehell together it could not be more obvious . . .

. . . everything's coming up Alex freakin' Manes.

_Finally._

If anyone in this weird little map-fart of a town deserves it, it's him.

"What if they actually fall in love, though?" Isobel asks me over Sunday Brunch at her place-the new ritual she's insisted on since a few months back. Max joins us whenever he's not busy at the station like a real adult with a set schedule, but most often it's just me and her.

Gotta admit, I don't hate it. This week I made scones.

Izz keeps on needling me about the happy couple. "Seriously Michael, I mean like fullon _love_ love. You're actually _honestly_ telling me if that happened . . .? If they, like . . . ran off and got married, you'd be all: 'hey it's cool, I'm cool, man, Forest is _coooooool' . . ._ " She scoffs and gives me this huge dramatic eyeroll. "Come on, dude!"

"I fell for Maria," I remind her with a theatrical, performative smile as I snatch a strawberry off her plate.

"Hey!" She yelps, failing to rescue the stolen berry before it's in my mouth. My brazen theft does not distract her from the topic at hand. "As hard as you fell for Alex?"

"Damn near." I nod. A way-too-big bite of quiche gets washed down with several gulps of iced tea while Isobel frowns.

She's either confused or annoyed, I'm not sure which.

"Hell," I continue once my mouth is clear of food, "in some alternate reality I bet me and her coulda worked out for the long haul, but in _this reality?_ Nah, man. All roads lead back to me and Alex. Eventually. Sooner or later."

My dear de-facto sister leans as close to my face as the tiny patio table between us will allow, her bright green eyes squinting, all narrow and suspicious. "You aren't even . . . a _teeny bit_ worried? . . . At all?"

She's having a really tough time with this concept. It's kinda funny.

"Nope," I shake my head. "Our time will get here whenever the hell it decides to, Izz. And in the meantime?" I fling out my arms and draw a long, deep breath of warm New Mexico air. "Sweet, _sweet_ freedom is mine!"

"Ooooooooh," She sing-songs. "Sweet freedom? May I assume we're now talking about _promiscuity?"_

"Maybe." I wink and pop a few blueberries in my mouth. "Depends on my mood any given weekend."

"But there have been people?"

"Some people," I confirm.

I've never minded Izz teasing me about this stuff. Especially not compared to Moralist Max's obnoxious penchant for safety lectures.

Or etiquette lectures.

Or 'the-sound-of-my-own-voice-is-just-so-awesome' lectures.

"I mean, I'm not putting together a huge harem or anything, but I don't wanna become 'Michael of the past,' again, either."

"I remember that guy," Isobel nods slowly, peering into the distance as if deep in thought. "Isolated. Moody. Loved to drive people away."

"What can I say?" I shrug. "Guess I've finally outgrown the need to base my entire personality on brooding and self destruction."

"Who's a good boy?!" I bust out laughing and put up a completely fake fight when Isobel hops into my lap, giggling and mussing up my hair with both hands. "Such a good, _good boy!"_

I love my family. It's gonna be a good day.

2.

The last time Maria closed down Wild Pony for a day of deep cleaning, I had the good sense to be overseas losing my leg and earning bragging rights.

"Hey, bestie?" I sing out across the bar.

"Yes, bestie?" She chirps back.

"Next time I agree to help you with this, please remind me that I hate it, and it's disgusting." I've been scraping wads of gum-some new, some ancient-and various other blobs of mystery gunk off the bottom tables for over an hour now, and I'm not even halfway done.

"Suck it up, soldier!"

I poke my head out from under the table just enough to see her pointing a spray bottle in my general direction.

"Sir, yes sir," I grumble.

My scraper collides with something tacky.

It doesn't _look like_ gum, but honestly who knows. It's not a mystery I care to solve, either. "Eeeeeew!" I groan aloud, feeling a tad dramatic. "I'd _literally_ rather have my old drill sergeant screaming in my face right now!"

"How about I put on some work jams?" Maria suggests, already cuing up a playlist.

I chuckle at her selection.

"La Vida Loca, indeed," I sigh, trying not to gag as I chip away at what I'm almost certain is a massive fossilized booger.

It takes us all day, but by the time Maria and I collapse at the bar in front of our respective beers, the place is completely _spotless._

"Y'gotta to admit, a cold beer does taste better after a long day of hard work," says Maria with a gigantic smile.

"Agreed." I clink my bottle against hers and we drink in silence for a minute or two. "I'm gonna tell Forest I love him," I blurt out.

Maria side-eyes me with that 'casually curious' face she's so good at. _"Oh?"_

"It's time," I shrug. "I mean, the feelings are there, we're happy together-and several times now I've gotten the feeling like he was juuuuuuust about to say it, but didn't. And I-I kinda think he's holding back for my sake. You know, like . . . he wants _me_ to decide when we're ready for . . . _those words."_

"Because . . .?"

"Because between the two of us I have way more emotional scar tissue, so he wants to be . . . he's, like . . . he's being cautious with me, I , uh . . ." I can feel a smile twitching at the edges of my mouth, so I go ahead and let it happen. Bust into full smile-mode. "Yeah, I think we're there. I'm ready."

Maria keeps studying my face, and her eyes are like these endless brown wells of instinctive sincerity. "And you're sure . . . about _your_ feelings?"

"Come on, DeLuca," I sigh. "Of course I'm sure. How could I not be? Forest is completely impossible not to love."

"He is a straight up sweetheart," she admits. "And he treats you like gold, which I'm a big fan of." She tips sideways and sort of shoulder-bonks me with a playful grin. "Being super hot just gets him bonus points, right?"

"A million bonus points!" I announce to the empty bar, lifting my bottle high in the air. We toast and laugh and take a few swigs of beer.

I wait for her to go on talking.

When she doesn't, I start to worry. "Um . . . so, it's been a while since I read the Best Friend Manual but isn't right about now when you're supposed to say something like 'I'm so happy for you, Alex'?"

"That is what I'm supposed to say," Maria admits, adjusting herself to look me straight in the eye as her arms curl around my neck. "And I totally would, if . . . if I thought Forest was . . . the _only_ -"

"Please don't be making this about Michael!" I beg. "Seriously! He was my first love, okay? And that'll always be true, but I'm-"

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'over it,' I call bs," she interrupts. "And I am literally psychic, so don't you even try to blow smoke!"

I don't have an immediate comeback.

I _do_ know how I feel, I'm not stupid. I know exactly how I feel, and it all makes sense in my head, but explaining those feelings out loud? Getting the words right? That's tricky. And not something I'm great at without musical accompaniment.

So a whole lotta quiet settles into the room while I work out what to say.

Maria doesn't push or rush me, either. She's patient.

Finally, I clear my throat and give it my best shot. "We . . . we complicate each other. There's stacks and stacks and _stacks_ of romantic baggage there, and it's . . . I mean, everything seems to be going better for both of us with that baggage closed, y'know? Closed and _locked!_ Besides," I perk up, trying to lighten all this sudden angst I wasn't prepared for- "it took us a minute, but if you hadn't noticed, he and I are actually kinda great at being friends lately."

"I had noticed," she concedes, glancing at a row of dartboards on the far wall. "You kicked his ass at last weekend's Darts Tournament."

"Exactly. See?" I smile. "We've both moved on, and things are better. I've got Forrest, who's amazing. And Michael is out there, y'know, having fun, playing the field! It's great! It's . . . we're in good places, Maria," I assure my friend. "Both of us. _Separately."_

I watch closely as she mulls over all her various thoughts and concerns. The process involves a fair amount of nervous lip chewing and toe tapping.

"What if he's only 'playing the field,'" she says with air-quotes, "because you're taken at the moment?"

I draw a deep sigh, take her hands, sort of cradling them, and say nothing. Simply sit there and hope that my oldest, dearest friend in the world can sense my _entire brain_ pleading with her to drop it.

"Okay, okaaaaaaay," she relents with a kind of apologetic shrug. "I get it. Alex Manes, I am hereby . . . _cautiously_ happy for you."

"I'll take what I can get." I slide off my barstool and wrap her up in a hug. I know she only wants to protect me.

A few days later Forest and I are sitting on a beat up wooden bench in his yard watching the earliest hints of sunset.

Actually, we're only half-assed watching it 'cause who the hell cares about a pretty sky when you can make out with a hot guy who loves you, right?

I've been waiting for the right moment to say the words. The _perfect_ moment. And with every passing second I'm more and more sure this is it.

We're all alone . . . quiet evening . . . romantic skyline . . . hell, all that's missing at this point is a sappy 90s love ballad.

Yeah. This is it.

The right moment.

The next time we come up for air, I'm gonna do it. I'll tell him there's something really important I need to say, take his hands, look him in eye, and. . . go for it.

It's gonna be great, I know it is.

 _We're_ gonna be great.

As we keep on making out, I'm already looking forward to his reaction. The soft smile, doe eyes, etcetera. And obviously the reciprocal 'I love you' I'm pretty much sure I'm gonna get.

Then out of nowhere it starts to rain. Not hard enough to interrupt us or anything, barely even a drizzle, but still. Rain.

I close my eyes and focus on Forest as he kisses and nuzzles my throat. It really is a perfect moment. He's great, and everything feels amazing. But I can't stop breathing in the air.

That smell.

Rainsmell. _Michael._

I keep breathing it in deeper and deeper, and it ruins _everything._

"I'm sorry," I hear someone croak, only realizing it's me after the words leave my mouth. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm _so sorry."_

3.

I don't mind working in a light rain. Never have. Hell, it keeps me cool. Way off in the distance I can see it coming down harder, as well as some hints of what might evolve into funnel clouds.

But all that action's going on at least a good ten miles away from my personal patch'a dirt, so I decide to go ahead and keep working on Gail and Gordon Munsie's ancient Toyota. At some point I'll probably kick back with a beer and watch the show, but until then I'm having a grand ol' time in junkyard heaven.

I don't know how long I stay hunched over my work, but what I do know is by the time I stand up straight again there's a serious crick in my neck, and my lower back kinda hates me. Damn me and my tunnel vision.

As I'm moving around, doing a few stretches, I notice that a skinny tendril of what's called a 'rope tornado' has actually touched ground. Still too far away to make me even a little bit nervous, but I _do_ decide it's officially Storm Watchin' Time.

I gather the necessary supplies.

Ancient fold out lawn chair from probably the seventies? Check.

Cheap domestic beer? Check.

Four hundred & thirty seven dollar binoculars I bought online while drunk one night 'cause a hot guy at Planet 7 made birdwatching sound sexy? Absolutely check.

I crack open a cold one and settle in for the show.

There's one roper sorta drifting around. The base tapers away every now and then, but it keeps re-forming and spinning across mostly wide open nothing. Though it does rip up a few trees and the rusted leftover bits n' parts of what used to be some kind of vehicle. Old tractor, I think.

Then another rope-y dude touches down about a quarter mile east of the first one. It's a little thicker than the first, and moving a lot faster. Looks like it's heading straight for a high fence, too.

"Poor bastard," I mutter under my breath as the slender column does make contact, sending splintered wood flying every which way. I make a mental note to drive out there tomorrow to check if maybe whoever owns the land might want help with repairs.

Gotta love love my projects, I think, glancing at the Munsie's Toyota. No such thing as too many projects.

I adjust the focus on my binoculars, trying to get a better look at what's going on further in the distance. There's a good chunk of the cloudline sagging in closer and closer to dirt . . . could there be a _real_ Tornado tonight?

Maybe.

We'll see.

Meanwhile, the two rope twisters keep me plenty entertained as I work my way through beers two and three. The first one keeps _almost_ dissolving like it can't make up its damn mind, while the other one just murders the hell outta acres and acres of fenceline.

"It is _wild_ what wind can do," I muse to no one.

I'm so focused on the show, I don't notice a jeep speeding down the road until it turns in and squeals to a stop like fifteen feet away from me.

"The _hell?!"_ I shout, leaping out of my chair. The driver is, of all people, Alex. "When did you get a jeep?"

The next few seconds are weird.

"As long as we're showing off new toys, I've got these." I hold up my binoculars. "You obviously have way more disposable inco-"

Alex swallows up whatever else I was about to say, and for the first time in over a year I'm kissing Alex Manes.

Literally half a second ago I was all zen and patient. Ready to fill my days with work, hobbies, and the occasional sex partner until The Universe decided to get me and Alex back on the same page. Even if it took years. But _now?_

All I can do is wonder, Jesus how _the hell_ have I not been going outta my mind this whole time?!

Whatever. Doesn't matter.

He's here now, and I'm in.

All in. No questions.

We're shuffling around together, sorta haphazardly meandering toward my airstream, when somehow the one brain cell _not_ focused on getting us out of our clothes as fast as possible reminds me . . .

. . . I probably _should_ ask questions.

Him showing up suddenly, all worked up like this . . . maybe a conversation is necessary? Or at least the _healthy_ thing to do?

"Hey um, sh-should we talk?"

" _Huh?"_ Alex wheezes the single confused syllable against my mouth, leaning back and frowning at me like I've just blurted out pure nonsense.

"I, it's just, well . . . this is kinda . . . um, outta nowhere, yeah? So, i-is, is there anything I should know?"

Now his expression turns strange. There's hope in his eyes, but it's mixed with worry, nerves, and something else that reads almost like . . . I'm not sure, but . . . _anger,_ maybe(?) It kinda reads like anger.

I feel his hands rake through my hair-another _completely awesome_ form of contact I can't believe I've gone over a year without-and he plants himself so we're standing nose to nose.

And I'm stuck. Right here. This spot. Frozen, and waiting for Alex explain why the hell-

"You're _mine!"_

I mean, in a nutshell? . . . Yeah.

"Okay," I nod, "good deal."

Two things I immediately stop caring about: Tornadoes and Conversation.

4.

Generally speaking I'm not a morning person, but this is great. Watching Alex struggle to find everything and get a pot of coffee going without waking me up.

I pretend to be asleep, of course, 'cause this is adorable.

"Good morning!" I hollar, sitting up just as he's leveling off a tablespoon of coffee grinds.

Poor guy yelps and loses his balance, so I lunge out of bed to catch him before he falls over.

"You're a _dick,"_ he groans as I drag him back to our rumpled up nest.

"I know." I settle on my back and curl an arm around his waist to keep Alex close. "I'm the worst."

He looks at me with a sleepy little smile and shrugs. "Guess I'll just have to get used to it."

For a long while I'm quiet, basking in syrup-y warmthwhile my bedmate feathers tiny kisses all over my face, and throat, and shoulders . . . it's too good.

"Get used to it'?" I finally breathe. "So you're _not_ running out the door this time?"

He props up on my chest and shakes his head 'no.'

"So we're dating," I chuckle. "Awesome. Ten years . . . ten _YEARS!_ " My chuckle turns into laughing, harder and harder, I can't help it. "Ten _freakin' years_ we've been in love, dude, and _now_ we're finally gonna date!"

"Oh no," Alex corrects, dead serious. "I don't wanna date you."

"What?" I'm confused. Definitely not laughing anymore. My gut clenches and _nothing_ is funny.

"They _stole_ ten years from us." Alex says softly, brushing hair out of my eyes. "Between my dad terrorizing me and Noah using your sister to kill those girls-"

"What does that have to do with us _now?!"_ I sit up, sort of knocking Alex off of me.

"Everything would've been different for us, Michael." he slides his hands into mine, but I'm too addled and dazed to respond. He keeps talking. "Without those . . . _monsters_ ruining everything-or maybe we let them ruin everything, I don't know," he scoots closer to me as he speaks. "The point is . . . I wanna . . . catch up."

"Catch up?" I hate the way my voice sounds. Wobbly and worried.

"To where we _should've been_ by now."

"I am so lost!" I can't think of anything else to say. "What are you-what are-what are we even talking about right now?"

"Um, o-okay," Alex fumbles around next to the bed until he finds his prosthetic, "just . . . one second . . ."

I watch him secure the false limb and go running out the door.

"You _just said_ you wouldn't do that!" I yell after him.

I swear to god, if he drives away I'm quitting humans.

He's back in less than a minute with some kind of paperwork.

When he settles back on the bed I can see a notary stamp, along with both his and someone else's signature at the bottom of the page.

"The Canter-Cortezes have been selling off their land in five acre plots," he says.

It's not news to me. They're a huge, prominent local family, and we went to school with at least a dozen of their kids and nieces and nephews.

"So, um . . . on the way over here yesterday, I stopped and, uh, well I . . . bought one. A, a plot," Alex stammers, handing me the paper. "Old man Cortez, he, he's known me since I was little, has a lotta respect for me, and my service record, all that, so ummmmmm . . . yeah. I just . . . handed over all the cash in my wallet, we called it a down payment, and . . . there ya go. Done."

"Okay." I frown. _"So?"_ Maybe I'm not as smart as I think I am, because I'm still not sure what this has to do with our ten years of lost time. I'm confused as all hell.

Meanwhile Alex sits there, gazing at me like I'm literally the most wonderful thing in the world, and it makes my stomach flip over.

"Sooooo," he croons softly, crawling into my lap, "we can move this cozy little soup can of yours onto the property whenever you're ready. I'll pay for the land, you design the house. Fair?"

Now I'm torn. On the one hand, 100% YES! Fair! I'm in! Absolutely! But on the other hand . . . I'm a dick. I wanna mess with him.

So I frown as hard as I can. "What makes you think I know _anything_ about how-"

"Michael-"

"Fine, I know everything about drawing blueprints," I cave instantly with the stupidest love-drunk idiot-smile _ever._ I can't help it. Ten years, man. "Do you want an open floor plan?" I ask. "Or a closed kitchen and formal dining room? Also, can I put in a hidden passageway somewhere just for fun?"

Alex chuckles, then yawns and snuggles into me like I'm a beanbag chair. "Whatever you want," he says. "Just remember we actually have to build the place, so don't go too crazy."

"No gilded gold staircase?" I tease.

"Very funny."

"Drawbridge? Alligator moat?"

"If you want a moat, you're digging it yourself, my love."

A little while later I'm back to work on the Toyota while Alex cleans up breakfast dishes, and it's the best day of my life.

THE END


End file.
